Conclusions
by Jedi Princess
Summary: "Your father always said you jumped to conclusions. You hate proving him right."


TITLE: Conclusions  
  
AUTHOR: Jedi Princess  
  
SUMMARY: "Your father always said you jumped to conclusions. Damn it, you hate proving him right."  
  
SPOILERS: MAJOR for "A Broken Heart". Word - for - word like my other one. *Insert shameless plug for "Code" here*  
  
DISCLAIMER: Man, Sydney jumps to conclusions really fast, have you noticed that? Anyway, not mine, don't sue, blah blah, woof woof.  
  
  
  
He's late. You stand in the dingy hallway, scribbling meaningless circles in your daytimer. Your watch clicks off seconds, impossibly loud. Where is he? Is he in a meeting? Maybe he's been reassigned. Or captured! SD - 6 could be torturing him right now! Your mind flies into overdrive as scenarios of pain and dismemberment chase each other through your brain. Only years of training keep your face calm and blank. Barely restraining yourself from flying out the door, you check the window again. Finally - finally! - you see him walk easily, but quickly, down the hall . No bruises, no lacerations.  
  
Your father always said you jumped to conclusions. Damn it, you hate proving him right. The worry fades as he walks towards you, replaced by that slow, familiar twist in your stomach. The one that says maybe there's an upside to this double - agent business. The one that you're not even going to acknowledge, you remind yourself firmly. You ignore the fact that it won't go away as Vaughn approaches. He looks frazzled.  
  
"Sorry I'm late."  
  
His eyes - really nice eyes, your traitorous mind whispers - are tired. You wonder what put that hurting look in them.  
  
"That's all right. You okay?"  
  
The blonde in the photo at his office pops into your mind. His wife. Maybe they fought. Trying to ignore the evil satisfaction you get from that thought, you tune in to what he's saying.  
  
"Yeah. Turns out we knew Jacqnoud was traveling, but we thought he was going to Bahrain. But what we don't know is why SD-6 is so interested in the U.C.O."  
  
Training kicks in again, thankfully sweeping thoughts of the unknown blonde to the back of your mind. Jacqnoud. United Commerce Organization. Morocco. The details of your brief with Sloane and Dixon flash through your mind. Then they vanish, replaced by the hurt in Vaughn's eyes and that damned picture again. You won't be able to think straight if you don't get the whole story. And you're not sure you like knowing that.  
  
"You sure you're okay?"  
  
He seems taken aback by your question. He hides it well, but you can see he's surprised you asked.  
  
"Yeah. I just, uh ---"  
  
You don't wait for him to explain, don't think you want to.  
  
"Did you have a fight with your wife?"  
  
The question is out before you even realize you've spoken. You almost wince at your own tactlessness, but manage to keep a straight face. Barely. Vaughn, on the other hand, is not so lucky. His mouth has dropped open, and his eyes are the size of dinner plates. You almost laugh at his expression - it's like something out of a Saturday morning cartoon.  
  
"My what?"  
  
His response is definitely not what you had expected. You blink, then shake off the confusion. You're not wrong. You can't be wrong.  
  
"Your wife."  
  
You sound sure of yourself. You are sure of yourself. You have to be. Otherwise....  
  
"What wife? I have no wife!"  
  
....you've just made a humongous mistake. Eeep. You panic momentarily. This could be really, really bad. Humiliation floods you. Ignoring your body's reaction - you've gotten good at that lately - you press on. He has to be married. That way, the huge temptation to throw the rules out the window for him can be held in check. He has got to be married.  
  
"No, there was a picture in your office. You and that woman...."  
  
He's just staring at you now.  
  
"...I thought you were married!"  
  
So much for subtlety. You have come to the conclusion that today is just not your day. There is one good thing about your embarrassment, however. You don't think you've ever seen the stoic Agent Vaughn quite so flustered before. It's kind of fun. He stammers a moment before coming up with a response.  
  
"No. She and I are not remotely m-- You thought I was married this whole time?"  
  
You almost smirk. Walking around to his other side so he doesn't see you fighting the grin, you pretend to be absorbed in the slow swirl of suds rinsing off your car. For once, you're glad you can't look directly at him. You'd probably burst out laughing.  
  
"I guess so. What's the big deal?"  
  
Oh, that was the wrong thing to say. He just gapes at you. The humiliation you felt has left, replaced with a multitude of feelings. Humor, for the expression on his face; satisfaction, that you can fluster him like this; and something warm and fuzzy that you're not analyzing, because he's flustered about you. You're both silent for a moment. Then he remembers why he's here, and so do you. You remind yourself firmly that this is not a bash - Vaughn day, and no matter how cute he looks when he's flustered, you do have a mission to complete.  
  
"Nothing. So when you get an idea on who he's meeting and/or details of that meeting, just call the usual number. Hit the eight key. We'll dead- drop in the trash can. Why did you ask me if I had a fight with my girlfriend?"  
  
This time you're prepared, and swallow the smirk that keeps threatening your calm expression. It's a tough battle, however. And the butterflies in your stomach are having a wonderful time knowing he's still fixated on that.  
  
"I don't know. Did you?"  
  
Because, of course, you're not fixated at all.  
  
"Huge."  
  
Now there's no hiding it. You don't even bother to try. The look on your face is reminiscent of the Grinch, just after he's stolen Christmas. Smug, content, and just slightly evil.  
  
"Good luck in Morocco."  
  
With that, he walks off, looking more frazzled then when he came in. You watch him go from the corner of your eye. That warm, twisty feeling surfaces again and just this once, you let it. Watching him walk off, you realize that you have to come to a conclusion about this. Soon.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Not content to leave well enough alone, your subconscious has to have its say. And like the undefined feeling in your stomach, just this once, you let it.  
  
God, his butt looks great in those pants.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Hoo boy, that was fun. Sydney does jump to conclusions a lot, doesn't she? This is my first "shippy" type, and I tried to make it funny. Sorry if the characters are OOC, but this story kinda had me by the throat. You know, "WRITE ME EVEN THOUGH I DON"T REALLY FIT THE PERSONALITY!"? *blank stares from audience* Okaaayyy, maybe not. But review anyway! 


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